Harry Potter and the Prime Minister's Plan
by The Romulan Republic
Summary: A terrorist attack prompts the Prime Minister to take an unprecedented action- one which draws Agent James Bond into a world that he could never have imagined, and threatens the very fabric of two worlds (Daniel Craig's Bond).
1. Chapter 1

This is my first Harry Potter story set in the film-verse. I much prefer the books overall, but the film-verse fits better for my purposes continuity-wise, and I treat writing in it as a challenge. I will be incorporating some ideas from the books, when they suite me and do not contradict film continuity.

This story (still in-progress) was originally posted on the Star Destroyer . net forums. I have made some slight alterations to the introductions and formatting to accomadate the move to Fanfiction . net, and I will correct any minor errors I encounter, but otherwise I have, as per my usual policy, preserved the story in its original form.

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter, James Bond, or anything originating therein. This story is not for profit, and no money is being made off of it. No infringement of anyone's rights is intended.

 **Harry Potter and the Prime Minister's Plan.**

July 15th., 2009.

10 Downing Street, London.

A swirl of green flames filled the fireplace, then subsided, and the new Minister for Magic, along with his portly and now somewhat shabby-looking predecessor, vanished into the flames.

The Prime Minister dropped down to sit on the edge of his desk, his shoulders sagging in a mix of relief and immense anxiety. Relief that his bizarre visitors had departed, and anxiety-no, panic might have been a better word-over what they had just informed him of.

The collapse of the Millennium Bridge had been playing on every news channel all day, wild speculation flying as to how many had died and what could have caused the disaster. Only he, at least in the non-magical world, now knew the truth, and part of him, a large part, rather wished he didn't: that the bridge had been destroyed, not by an accident or structural failure, but by an act of terrorism, by the followers of a dark wizard styling himself as Lord Voldemort. Moreover, his visitors had informed him, this dark wizard had apparently returned from the _dead_ , and was perpetrating a wave of terror across the country that was responsible for a number of unsolved murders.

He'd known about magic, of course, ever since that man, Cornelius Fudge, had dropped in on his first night in office. His visits had become more frequent, and his news more disturbing, over the last few years, but this... he hadn't been prepared for _this_.

And the worst part of it was that there was nothing that he could do about it. No one else knew, and it wasn't as if he could bloody _tell_ anyone, even if he wanted to. So what could he do? Sit here, go through the motions of an investigation, of comforting the victims and their families, pretending he didn't know what had happened, while he waited for the wizards to clean up their mess?

No.

He was surprised by the force of the thought, the palpable feeling of _revulsion_ at the thought of simply sitting here and doing _nothing_. He had been elected to serve his country, for God's sake, and these atrocities were _his_ responsibility, even if only he knew it.

This could not pass.

But what could he do? Go to Parliament? To the press? He'd be laughed out of office and into an asylum before the week was out. But to just _sit here_ and do nothing, waiting for the _Minister for Magic_ to come and tell him everything was alright now, like he was a bloody child... Or worse, he thought with a sudden chill, for this... this _terrorist_ Voldemort and his lunatic Death Eaters to come bursting into his office, or his home... it was intolerable. He paced back and forth, mind running in increasingly agitated circles... then stopped as a sudden thought occurred to him.

Yes. It would be dangerous, both to his political future and quite possibly to his physical safety, but at least she knew how to be discrete. It was in her job description, after all. Yes, he thought, calming down now that he had an idea of what to do. She would be able to advise him, if he could only convince her of the absurd truth.

A plan began to form, as he picked up his phone and dialed a number only a few people in the world knew.


	2. Chapter 2

Here we go. Thanks to Eternal_Freedom over on SDN, for his assistance with editing this chapter.

July 17th., 2009.

London Bridge.

Commander James Bond strode briskly along the sidewalk toward London bridge, his mind running over the phone call he had received ten minutes ago.

 _He stepped out of the shower, not bothering to wrap a towel around himself, as he crossed the room and picked up the phone, casting a discrete eye toward the bedroom where... what was her name? Ah, Dominique. Where Dominique was currently getting dressed._

 _"Bond."_

 _"London Bridge, South Side, fifteen minutes. Don't be late."_

That was all. There was an undercurrent of tension he had rarely heard in M's voice, however, which made him just a little more cautious than usual as he approached their meeting place.

He studied the opposite side of the street. A shop, a café, a rather pretty young woman with her child in tow, a young couple holding hands...

He shifted his gaze to the corner, then smirked as he saw a nondescript grey car slow at the crosswalk. He knew that beneath the mundane exterior, it was equipped with bulletproof glass and some of the best counter-surveillance measures that money could buy. He let his gaze drift over it without an visible sign of recognition, then crossed the street at a casual stroll and turned on the corner. The car slowed to a stop as it pulled up to the curb, and the back door opened. Bond stepped inside, closing the door behind him, and turned to the man sitting beside him.

He was seldom taken by surprise, but he paused for a moment as he took in the familiar features of the man sitting next to him. It was a conscious effort not to straighten his posture slightly as he extended a hand.

"Mr. Prime Minister."

"Mr. Bond."

 _Of course. M must have told him._

"I'm glad to see you were punctual, Mr. Bond."

"Ma'am." He nodded to the short, stern woman sitting on the opposite side of the Prime Minister. The lined face and short-cropped grey hair were the same, as was the immaculate suit, but he saw a flicker of uncertainty in her expression. M was worried. And that meant trouble.

It always did, when they needed him.

The car pulled away from the curve, and Bond took a moment to study the driver. He was a tall, dignified black man of middle age, bald and dressed as impeccably as M, but he carried himself with an alert readiness Bond recognized, eyes constantly sweeping back and forth over the streets around them. Bond didn't recognize him as one of M's usual lackeys, but he pegged the man as ex-military.

They drove through what Bond recognized as a shopping district a little outside of the busiest areas of London. He remained silent, studying the people and stores they drove past. The Prime Minister, after his initial introduction, said nothing.

M broke the silence as they passed a storefront on some street Bond didn't recognize.

"Tell me, Mr. Bond: What do you see?"

He looked more closely, but he saw only shoppers. Pedestrians. Cars. A Bobby on the corner.

"Nothing unusual", he admitted after a moment.

"Of course not", M replied, to his surprise. She turned to the driver. "Mr. Shacklebolt."

"There's a pub, right between those two buildings on your left."

"I don't see a-" Bond blinked. "Pub."

Sure enough, there was a dingy little pub, with a sign above the door reading "The Leaky Cauldron."

Bond turned back to M, slightly embarrassed that he could have missed something so obvious.

M's expression was very serious and, he thought, more than a little annoyed.

"What you are witnessing, Mr. Bond, is one particular aspect of the single greatest lapse in British Intelligence history." Her tone was definitely disgruntled, but considering her words, he couldn't find much humour in her discomfiture.

"Quantum?", he asked, tensing as a flicker of cold rage ran through him. The mysterious global syndicate had been lying low since that day in the Bolivian desert, but he knew that he had probably only scratched the surface of their operations.

 _I wouldn't mind another crack at them._

But M shook her head shortly.

"Would that we were so lucky. This is nothing so... mundane, I'm afraid."

The PM broke in, his expression very serious.

"What if I were to tell you, Mr. Bond, that beneath the ordinary, every day London we know, there exists a secret world, populated by people not completely unlike you or I, except for the fact that they are possessed of abilities that most men might describe as... supernatural."

Bond let a grin slide onto his face. It died when he saw the deadly seriousness of M's expression.

"You're serious."

M gave him a very cold look, and the Prime Minister grimaced, his expression precisely as though he were sucking on a particularly sour lemon.

"Perhaps a demonstration, Mr. Shacklebolt", M said.

Bond turned his attention to the driver once more, tensing imperceptibly as the man reached into the jacket of his suit and withdrew a long, slender piece of wood. He held the stick-no, wand, Bond thought bemusedly-over his outstretched hand. He waved it, and Bond stared as a packet of papers appeared out of nothing, dropping neatly bundled into Mr. Shacklebolt's hand.

"That's a neat trick, Mr. Shacklebolt", Bond said. His evaluation of the threat Mr. Shacklebolt represented had just gone off the scale, however, and beneath his façade, he was rapidly reconsidering his options. Shacklebolt was in an awkward position, presuming he had to actually point the... wand at his target. If he was fast, he could reach over and disarm the man while putting him in a choke hold, or snapping his neck.

"That is a form of transfiguration, conjuring something out of nothing", Shacklebolt explained. "It is only one of many things magic can be used for."

"So when did Her Majesty's government start employing wizards?", Bond asked.

M and the Prime Minister traded glances.

"We don't", the Prime Minister said reluctantly. "Mr. Shacklebolt here was assigned to me by an organization describing itself as the 'Ministry of Magic'", which considers itself the government of Britain's magical population."

Bond raised one eyebrow. That was unexpected. Experimental abilities, a product of advanced genetic manipulation or cybernetics, he might have accepted. An entire society though, living in secret within Britain-

"Understand, Mr. Bond, that the demonstration I just provided was, according to my peoples' laws, highly illegal", Mr. Shacklebolt said calmly. "If my superiors were to find out, I would, at the least, lose my position and face a rather hefty fine. You and M would have your memories erased."

Bond shifted uneasily in his seat. He hadn't thought anything would still unsettle him like this, but the idea that someone could just erase his memories... the professional in him was horrified at the security implications.

" _I wonder what it would be like to forget..._ , a small voice whispered. He ignored it. If he wanted to forget, he could get bloody drunk. Which sounded increasingly like a wonderful idea, once this conversation was finished.

"M and I", he enquired instead, focusing in on the obvious omission. "But not the Prime Minister?"

"No, Mr. Bond. Under the provisions of the International Statute of Secrecy, Muggle- excuse me, that's non-magical-heads of state or government may be made aware of the events in the Wizarding World, for the purposes of maintain secrecy and security, at the discretion of the local Wizarding government."

"Her Majesty", Bond asked at once, glancing at M.

"I believe that Her Majesty is aware of the broad outlines of the situation", M replied.

Bond frowned, considering the implications of that.

"You say the wizards normally handle their own affairs", he told the Prime Minister. "Am I to take it that that is no longer the case?"

The Prime Minister grimaced again.

"Two days ago, Mr. Bond, I was informed by my... counterpart in the "Ministry of Magic" that a group of Wizarding terrorists were again operating in Britain."

"Again?"

"Apparently, they were highly active during the Eighties and Nineties, but were believed to have disappeared following the death of their leader, a man styling himself as 'Lord Voldemort'." M's tone made it clear what she though of that title. "Unfortunately, not only is this Lord Voldemort still alive, but he has renewed his campaign against the Wizarding and Muggle populations alike. Last week, he perpetrated an attack which resulted in the deaths of thirty one of Her Majesty's subjects."

Bond checked his mental timeline and put the pieces together.

"The Millennium Bridge."

"Yes. Unfortunately, it would be inadvisable to expose the existence of magic to the general populace, even were it practical to do so", M replied. Bond snorted faintly. "Inadvisable" was certainly an understatement. Suddenly reveal something that called everyone's beliefs into question, especially in this sort of situation, and people would panic.

Then they would get angry.

"So you want me to deal with it."

"Discretely", M replied.

"Let me be frank with you", the Prime Minister said. "You seem like a man who will appreciate it." Bond met his gaze levelly, revealing nothing. "While M recommended you for this assignment, I have some very serious misgivings." M shot a glance at the Prime Minister, but said nothing. "You have a reputation for reckless actions, Mr. Bond. The embassy incident was a serious embarrassment for the government, not to mention your involvement in the deaths of government agents."

"Agents who were involved in treason and espionage against the United Kingdom", M noted sharply.

The Prime Minister acknowledged the point with a nod.

"M assures me that you are the most capable man for this job. Nonetheless, I would be remiss if I did not emphasize that preserving the Statute of Secrecy, and concealing the involvement of the British government in this matter, is of the utmost importance."

"Beyond that", M interjected, "You have carte blanch to accomplish your objective by whatever means you deem necessary. I want this dealt with Bond, quickly and cleanly. I want you to find this Lord Voldemort, and put him in the bloody ground. Deal with the others as you see fit."

"I've arranged for you to meet your contact on the Wizarding side in the Leaky Cauldron in..."-Shacklebolt glanced at his watch-"four minutes. Do you have any further questions that can't wait until then?"

Bond had about a thousand, but none of them were terribly pertinent to the assignment.

"That will suffice, Mr. Shacklebolt." He nodded to the others sitting in the backseat. "Mr. Prime Minister." He opened the door and stepped out, adjusting his suit and tie as the car rolled away from the curb.

"Well then. Let's get started."


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks again to Eternal_Freedom for his assistance with this chapter.

This chapter, which was originally posted in June of 2017, is dedicated to the memory of Sir Roger Moore.

Tonks sat at a small corner table in the Leaky Cauldron, watching the door which marked the boundary between Wizarding Britain's main shopping district, and Muggle London. Normally, she found it rather interesting-two worlds, living side-by-side and mostly unaware of each other, but so often spilling over the thin, invisible boundary that divided them. A boundary that would be broken today. But her mind was elsewhere at the moment. Half her attention was on the door, and the man who, she had been told, was supposed to meet her here at 11:00. The rest of her was determinedly sulking.

She wasn't sure when she had begun to have feelings for Remus Lupin, much less why-he was nearly twice her age for Merlin's sake. Maybe, she thought, it was always that way-it just happened, and you didn't understand until it was already too late to change your mind. All she knew was that she felt a growing attraction to the man-she wasn't yet ready to call it more than that-and that he seemed resolutely unaware of it. He was always polite to her, but somehow... distant. It was so frustrating.

And then, of course, there was the war. Last week's attack on the Millennium Bridge had barely been noticed in the Wizarding World, but her father had heard about it from the few contacts he had left in Muggle society, and she was an Auror. She was thankful that she hadn't been part of the clean-up crew, at least- the Obliviators and Aurors tasked with questioning and memory-wiping the hundreds of Muggle witnesses while the injured, and the dead, were still being pulled out of the river.

Merlin, she just hoped they hadn't missed any of the cameras. Those bloody Muggle cameras that had sprouted up on every street corner, it seemed, had become the bane of the Obliviator Office in recent years- she had overheard more than one colleague complaining loudly about it at the Ministry. And that wasn't even counting cell phones. She wondered what would happen if Voldemort continued to attack, while more and more Muggles were recording everything around them. She shifted uneasily. The idea of a world where the Statute of Secrecy didn't exist was almost unimaginable.

And now Ollivander was gone too, taken from his shop almost simultaneously with the bridge attack. Few actually knew him well, it seemed, but almost everyone in magical Britain knew of him, and most witches and wizards had bought every wand they'd ever had from him. He was the best, and almost the only, in his field. She wondered how well they could manage without him, if he were even still alive.

Her head snapped up as she caught motion in the door way. A man walked in, dressed in a sharp Muggle suit. His features were rough, angular, and hard beneath his short blond hair, his green eyes like glass taking in the room in a glance. But it was the way he moved, more than anything, that caught her eye. He stalked, confidently, with an undercurrent of controlled aggression and just a hint of swagger. His gaze fell on her, eyes meeting hers' as he noticed her watching him. Then he strode over to her and, without a word, pulled out a chair and sat, propping his chin on his elbows and regarding her appraisingly from across the table.

"Can I help you, Mr...?", she asked.

"Bond. James Bond."

Bond felt an unease greater than any he had experienced in years going to a simple briefing as he approached the door of the Leaky Cauldron, slipping the dossier and cover story Shacklebolt had conjured for him inside his jacket. But then, this wasn't a simple briefing, was it? This was crossing the boundary into another world, a world he hadn't even known existed an hour ago. The weight of the holster carrying his familiar Walther PPK was a reassuring presence beneath his jacket as he stepped through the door and into a small, dingy, dimly-lit room. As the gateway to a secret society it looked remarkably unimpressive, Bond noted approvingly. Inconspicuous. He would have dressed a bit more casually if he'd known he was coming here, though- his suit stuck out like a bloody sore thumb amid the few customers huddled at corner tables and furtively conversing or watching the doors, most of whom were dressed in shabby black robes or rags, and the rest of whom were wearing clothes at least four decades out of date. All, that is, except for one.

His eyes were drawn to one table near the back of the room. There was one person sitting there, watching him. She was fairly young, no more than thirty, with a pale but pretty face framed by short, straight, mud-brown hair. She was dressed casually, jeans and a t-shirt, which clung to her in a manner that revealed hints of appealing curves without being revealing, or tight enough to restrict movement. She didn't look like much- certainly not a spy. But then, the best spies didn't, and she probably wouldn't be relying on physical strength in a fight.

It would take some getting used to, he realized. He was already having to reevaluate his usual threat assessments. He would have liked to get here first, stake out the location before making contact, but Shacklebolt had planned things too neatly for that. But he fell back on one of the first lessons he had learned in this profession- never let them see that you're nervous. He strode confidently over to the table, pulled out a chair, and sat, fixing a confident smirk to his face, with just a hint of subtle appreciation for his companion's feminine charms.

"Can I help you, Mr...?" she asked, eyeing him coolly.

He held out a hand.

"Bond. James Bond."

"Tonks. Just Tonks", she replied, taking his hand after a moment and shaking it. She had a stronger grip than her appearance would suggest.

"Well, Just Tonks", he replied, smirking. "Shall we get straight to business, or would you like a drink first?"

"We must keep up appearances, Mr. Bond", she replied, then turned to a bald, toothless old man behind the bar.

"Two Firewhiskeys, Tom." Bond wondered what a Fire Whiskey was, and weather it would help him make some sense of the last half-hour.

"Coming right up, Miss Tonks", the barman replied. Bond turned back to Tonks.

"So, what brings a pretty girl like you to a place like this?"

"Well you meet the most interesting people here", she replied with a slight smile. "Nearly everyone in this country comes through the Leaky Cauldron sooner or later."

He wondered if Tonks realized just how much useful information she had just given away. Almost certainly she did, if she had any experience at all in this game. She had just informed him that he could find almost anyone he might need to locate here, and that this was a place where an unusual person (even by Wizarding standards) would be unlikely to stand out too much, as well as that the... magical world was small enough that a dingy little pub could be a major social scene for the entire nation. It made sense, though, if they were able to live so effectively below the radar.

 _Shacklebolt chose this place well._

"And what brings you here, Mr. Bond?", Tonks asked in return.

"Well, the view is certainly pleasant, Miss Tonks." He gave her a smirk that was almost a leer, but she gave not sign that she had noticed.

The barkeep, Tom, arrived a moment later with their drinks: two tall glasses of clear liquid, with smoke rising off the top. Bond eyed them speculatively, waiting for Tonks to drink first before he took a sip. It burned his throat going down, but it was far from the strangest thing he'd ever drunk, and he thought that it would have a good kick to it if he drank enough of it. He was still on-duty, though, so he paced himself. When he'd finished half the drink, Tonks put hers' down and nodded toward the back of the pub.

"Shall we continue this conversation in private, Mr. Bond?"

He smirked again.

"Certainly, Miss Tonks."

Giving no sign that she noticed his flirting, she rose and lead him across the common room and into a narrow, dingy hallway at the back of the pub.

The room she lead him to was small and dimly-lit, with a single lamp, table and two chairs, but not much else. As soon as the door closed behind him, Tonks turned, drawing another wand from the pocket of her jeans and pointing it at him. He froze, and nearly moved to disarm her before he realized that she was, in fact, pointing it at the door.

"If you'll step aside, please", she said, eyeing him with a faintly irritated expression. He did so, watching closely as she waved her wand at the door and muttered "Colloportus." That was interesting Shacklebolt hadn't spoken aloud when he cast his spell. It was disconcerting, being surrounded by something with unfamiliar limits. He knew what a gun, or a car, or a human body could do. Magic was an unknown quantity, and he would have to fill in the gaps in his knowledge as quickly as possible.

Tonks added a couple more spells: "Muffliato" and another he couldn't make out. Bond watched, taking notes without showing any outward sign that her actions were strange or unfamiliar to him, but she explained anyway.

"I locked the door, and I added a charm to cancel sound, and an alarm if someone tries to open the door. We should be fairly secure now." Well, that was certainly useful. He also noted that the... spells all seemed to require that the wand be pointed roughly in the direction of the target, and that the vocabulary seemed to be based on a form of bastardized Latin. _How quaint_. They sat, facing one another. Tonks spoke first.

"Well, I'm sure you have a lot of questions, Mr. Bond."

"Several. The most important of which is: how can I trust you?"

"Its my understanding that your superiors arranged for us to have this meeting", she replied.

"Well a second opinion never hurt. I prefer to draw my own conclusions."

She frowned.

"I suppose I will just have to earn your trust, then. I'm a friend of Mr. Shacklebolt's, if that helps." That at least went some way toward confirming that she was who she was supposed to be, since he hadn't mentioned the other wizard by name. Or would Tonks be called a witch? It hardly seemed polite to ask, but a simple mistake could compromise his cover. And a simpler question might help break the ice.

"So what do I call you? A wizard, or a witch?"

She raised one eyebrow, perhaps surprised by such a simple question, but answered him in a neutral tone.

"Witch is the usual term for a woman who can use magic. Wizard is the male version."

 _Alright, time for a bigger question._

"What, in your opinion, is Lord Voldemort's likeliest target?"

She frowned, apparently considering the question.

"His ultimate goal is to seize control of the Wizarding government and to kill or enslave all those who do not have "pure" wizarding blood", she replied. "Meaning", she quickly elaborated, "those who are not witches or wizards with two magical parents."

 _Wonderful. We're dealing with the magical Ku Klux Klan._ Well, it certainly explained his choice of target, beyond simply causing the maximum in fear and chaos.

"We also believe that he is seeking immortality", Tonks continued, then paused before adding: "And that he will seek to kill a boy named Harry Potter, who is currently enrolled at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

A magical school? Interesting, but hardly the most pertinent fact.

"Immortality?", he asked sharply. "Is that possible?"

"Normally, no", Tonks replied. "However, reliable testimony confirms that Lord Voldemort spent most of the last fifteen years as a disembodied spirit, capable of communication and possession of living beings but otherwise mostly powerless, before using a dark ritual to regain his old body a year ago last May."

Silence fell. It was a moment before Bond realized that he was actually speechless. He swallowed, trying to pass off his... well, there was no word other than shock... as simple contemplation. Ignoring his instinctive rejection of Tonks' statement as absurd-he'd have to work on that-and presuming that it was accurate, how the bloody hell was he supposed to deal with an enemy that couldn't die? Had M known? She'd mentioned Voldemort's followers disbanding after his "death", but he'd assumed that it had simply been a case of faulty intelligence.

Another reminder of how many assumptions he'd have to re-learn.

"Any idea how to put him down for good?", he finally asked.

She gave him a flat look.

"If I knew that, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

He rubbed his forehead and took a deep breath.

"Alright, so we go after his support network. I'll go over my dossier and draw up a list of targets. This boy, Harry Potter?", he continued, remembering her earlier words. "What interest does a magical terrorist have in a particular child?"

"Harry Potter is the only known person to ever survive the Killing Curse, when Voldemort tried to kill him as a baby. Since then, he has repeatedly faced Voldemort, and survived."

Bond raised an eyebrow. He didn't know how a child could do those things, besides being very, very lucky, but it was hardly the strangest thing he'd heard in the last hour, or the last five minutes.

"Why do I get the feeling that your Lord Voldemort doesn't like loose ends?"

She shook her head.

"No. And he won't tolerate being bested."

 _An egotist._ That could be useful to know. Egotistical men were easy to manipulate, once you knew how to push their buttons.

"So. Non-magical targets with large numbers of civilian targets, your "Ministry", and Hogwarts. Mr. Potter's residence?" He looked at Tonks questioningly.

"Its location is secret", she replied immediately.

He let that go, for now. Rival organizations, even allied ones, always had their own secrets. Felix was just the same.

"Final question", he said. "What are the best ways to magically defend against bullets?"

Her eyes widened slightly, and she darted a nervous glance at the door. Finally, she took a deep breath and replied.

"its... never really occurred to me." Well, that was encouraging, if it was a common blind spot among wizards. "It... might be possible to shield against them, and of course a transfiguration master could conjure a barrier, or animate an object to take the shots. Or, there are any number of ways that a wizard could disable or disarm you before you could fire. Especially if they were disillusioned, or under an invisibility cloak." He didn't know what "disillusioned" was, but from the context it sounded like some form of personal stealth. Impressive.

"So, I just have to shoot them first", he quipped. Tonks gave him a nervous look, but said nothing. She seemed to have a rather weak stomach for someone in this line of work, if talk of shooting people bothered her that much. Or maybe it was just that she wasn't used to people using guns.

"Is that all, Mr. Bond?", she asked after a moment.

"For now", he replied. "I trust you'll be able to contact me if necessary."

"I will", she confirmed. "Same time next Saturday?"

He shook his head.

"Evening", he countered. "Best to avoid a predictable routine. Besides, it'll make our little couple routine seem more convincing." He smirked.

"Very well, Mr. Bond. Shall we say Eight?"

"Eight it is, Miss Tonks."

"Great." She gave him a small, strained smile. "Oh, there is one more thing I have to show you."

"Oh?" He cocked one eyebrow with a rakish grin.

"If you'll follow me, Mr. Bond." She drew her wand, pointed it at the door, and muttered "Finite Incantatum."

 _Latin again. "End Incantation?"_

Tonks lead him through the common room, ignoring the knowing look the bartender gave the "couple", and into a small, walled-off yard behind the building. There she tapped her wand against one of the bricks, and Bond's mouth dropped open slightly as the wall seemed to... peel away, revealing an opening into a wide, crowded alley filled with the strangest collection of shops that he had ever seen...

Tonks turned to him with, he thought, just a little smugness in her expression.

"Welcome", she said, "to Diagon Alley."


	4. Chapter 4

Some of you may be confused by the sudden skip forward last chapter, particularly if you have read the story over on SDN. This is due to an error on my part- I accidentally posted chapter five in place of chapter four. This is now being corrected, so the previous chapter four will now by chapter five. My apologies for any confusion.

June 17th., 2009.

Night.

Bond gazed at the packet of papers strewn with restrained disorder across his sitting room coffee table, and the small stack of deceptively normal-looking books sitting on the floor beside them, as the rain drummed quietly against the window panes.

After waiting for a few minutes in silent indecision, he picked up a piece of paper with the heading " **Known and Suspected Death Eaters and Associates** ", and a series of captioned photographs. His mind, however, was still swirling in restless disorder, stray thoughts flitting dully in and out, to be grasped at vainly. He felt... drunk, or hung over, though he'd only had... three glasses of Scotch? Three glasses of Scotch since he'd gotten home. After trying vainly to focus on the information in front of him, he put the paper down and slouched back in his chair, staring at the ceiling.

Wizards. He was working with wizards. An entire secret society of wizards, living in London, using dark magic to murder British subjects. His contact was a witch. A cute, perky female witch, and that was a nice bonus, but a witch nonetheless. He chuckled bitterly as he remembered his introduction to Diagon Alley.

 _He stepped cautiously out into the busy ally, eyes trying to take in and catalogue a thousand sights at once. Men and women in long robes, pointy hats, and clothes that looked like they came out of the 1920s, along with a few, mostly younger, shoppers in more modern dress. A stand containing jars of pickled... somethings, beneath a sign advertising frogs' legs and new eyeballs. A window display full of bloody broomstricks. An ice cream parlor, by the sign, but the windows were boarded up. It took him only a moment to notice that something was wrong, besides the obvious, that is. The crowds were took quiet. People moved by too quickly, their faces downcast, or stood in little clumps, their furtive eyes darting nervously back and forth. They were afraid._

Somehow, that was reassuring. Perhaps it reminded him that these people were still... well, human.

Actually, the oddest thing about it all, thinking back, was how normal it had all looked. Mothers and fathers and little children, shoppers going about their business, stores selling merchandise, money changing hands. It could have been any street in London, if not for the constant little oddities that reminded you that it wasn't quite _right_. Which just made the whole thing seem more... unnatural.

He snorted. He was probably being prejudiced. People were people. Wizards probably weren't any worse than the rest of them. But he knew mens' nature, knew it intimately, and when an ordinary man, or woman for that matter, went bad, they couldn't just wave a stick around and silence the sound of your screams, or wipe the memory of their crimes away.

He had followed Tonks down the alley, eyes watching everything, until they arrived at a grand stone building which Tonks informed him was a bank, Gringotts. It should have easily been visible from the London streets, towering over the surrounding shops, but he knew that he had never seen it before. _Presumably hidden by the same magic that concealed the Leaky Cauldron from... Muggles._ He'd found himself trying not to think too much about it, though he knew that it could be important. The main doors had been flanked by a pair of small, wrinkly creatures with long noses.

Tonks said they were goblins.

"They run the bank", she'd explained. "You can exchange Muggle for Wizard money inside. Just be respectful and they'll help you out."

He'd followed her inside, on her advice, and found himself in a long, elegant hall filled with goblins and customers. He'd exchanged most of the two hundred pounds he currently had on him for "galleons" and "sickles", and been dismayed to find out that goblin bankers had never heard of electronic banking or credit cards- or if they had, they gave no sign of it. He'd cut the conversation short when the teller started to get irate. No point drawing attention to themselves, or antagonizing these creatures. They didn't look like much, but who knew what they could do? He hadn't read many fairy tales since he was a child, but "goblin" was seldom a positive term.

"Not a lot of electronics in the Wizarding World", Tonks explained as they left. "Us wizards tend to be an old-fashioned lot, I'm afraid, and they won't even work in some of the more high-magic areas, like Hogwarts."

 _Damn. That could hamper communications, and surveillance._ He'd need to know weather a given area would negatively affect electronics. And on that subject...

"You have a phone, don't you?"

"My parents have one", Tonks replied. "My dad is a Muggle-born."

"Muggle-born?", Bond asked, though he could guess the answer.

"Witch or Wizard with non-magical parents", Tonks filled in, confirming his assumption.

"Land line?" He was afraid he knew the answer, and grimaced slightly when Tonks confirmed it.

"Get a cell phone before our next meeting. Prepaid. Keep it fully charged at all times. Be aware that Muggle authorities can monitor and trace cell phone communications, so try not to say anything too... compromising." He smirked slightly at her, aware of the multiple meanings that word could have, but if Tonks noticed the double entendre, she gave no sign of it. "I'll see if I can get Q branch to assign you an encrypted phone."

He'd left Tonks at the door of the Leaky Cauldron, then doubled back. To his relief, he was still able to see the bloody place, though he had to ask the landlord, who's name was Tom, to let him through to the ally, on the pretext of having left his wallet behind. He went straight to what appeared to be a bookshop, and turned out to be correct- Flourish and Blotts was not a large store, but it was the only one of its kind he'd seen in the ally that day. He spent the next twenty minutes perusing titles and skimming books, and purchased a half-dozen volumes, as well as the last two issues of the Daily Prophet. He was only barely surprised when he saw that the photos were moving.

 _Just have to keep them out of sight when I have company over_ , he thought wryly.

It hadn't really hit him, until he was home in his apartment, that he had actually spent the day exploring a world that shouldn't exist. He could almost have believed that it was all a dream, or some vivid hallucination brought on by one too many drinks. But there were the books and papers, and his dossier from Shacklebolt, sitting on the floor and mocking him, his whole... reality, with their proof of something that should have been impossible. So he'd gone to the kitchen, poured himself a stiff drink, thought better of it, and sat down to drink straight from the bottle.

It hadn't helped much.

It wasn't that it surprised him that there were things beyond what could be explained by science. He wasn't certain what it was, but something about the whole affair unsettled him, besides the obvious. He wasn't given to introspection, but something about the... malleability of reality where magic was concerned unsettled him on a level that ordinary violence hadn't in a very long time.

 _Set in my ways, I suppose_. He chuckled bitterly. A man in his line of work operated within certain parameters, certain expectations, and his survival depended upon being prepared, on knowing what to expect. Magic... magic changed all that.

He woke suddenly, his eyes snapping open. He was still in his chair, and it was dark outside the windows.

The phone was ringing.

Tonks closed the door of her mother's house and leaned against it with a sign, closing her eyes and letting the water drip from her limp hair to the floor.

 _What the hell have I gotten myself into?_

What she was doing... as far as she knew, it had never been done before. If it got out, she could-no, scratch that, _would definitely_ -lose her job. She might even end up in Azkaban. And Bond would have his memory wiped. That bothered her a little, even though she'd wiped Muggles' memories herself before. It was one of the parts of her job that she didn't particularly like, but it was part of the job.

 _But its right, isn't it? The Muggles have a right to protect themselves, just like we do? And without help, Bond would either get nowhere, or get himself killed._ That was what Shacklebolt had said, what had convinced her to join this mad plan.

"Their minds are made up, Tonks. They're going to do this, with or without us. At least with our help, they have a chance of accomplishing some good."

"Tonks?" Her mother's voice, calling from the next room. "Is that you?"

"Hi, Mum", she said tiredly, plastering a very forced smile onto her face as she stepped 'round the corner and greeted Mum with a hug. Her mother stepped back after a moment and looked up at her, brow wrinkling.

"Tonks, are you alright? You seem... off. You're not pining after Mr. Lupin too much, are you?"

She shrugged, and forced herself to keep smiling.

"Just a long day. I'll feel better in the morning."

She remembered what it was like, not having to lie to the people you loved. She wondered how long it would be before she forgot.

"Evening Mum", Bond nodded to the familiar figure of M, standing just inside an ally across the street from his front door. In answer, she turned and began to walk down the street, her black umbrella keeping her dry while Bond was left to stand in the rain. He caught up to her in half a block, not running, his longer strides overtaking her's. M never glanced at him.

"Walk with me Bond."

He fell in beside her, and they walked in silence for perhaps a block, Bond watching for any hint that they were being followed.

M spoke first, to his surprise.

"Your breath smells of drink."

"I'm off-duty."

"Well, consider yourself on-duty for the next ten minutes, if you can keep your head clear enough to make a report."

"Met the contact. Girl, perky, name is Tonks. Just Tonks." He grinned.

Me eyed him irately.

"Oh for Heaven's sake, Bond. Another one? You might try remaining professional, on occasion."

Bond wisely said nothing.

"What did you make of her, Bond? Besides "perky"."

He thought for a moment.

"Sensible. A bit plain. Knows her business well enough, but I don't think she's seen much real violence."

"Did she hold much back?"

"No more than you'd expect."

"A professional. Good."

They walked in silence a little further.

"Did you know that this Voldemort is supposed to be immortal", Bond asked. M glanced at him sharply. "Only immortality rather defeats the purpose of sending a Double O."

"Mr. Shacklebolt mentioned it. I'd prefer to verify that fact for ourselves."

"I have access to a range of sources in the, ah, Wizarding community."

"You have a plan of action?"

"Start at the bottom, work my way up. See if we can draw our black wizard into an ambush. Any more detailed plans will require further intelligence."

M was silent for a moment. When she spoke, she sounded uneasy, almost frightened.

"I trust you understand the importance of this assignment, Bond." Her voice was quiet, and he could barely hear it above the patter of the falling rain. "We've stumbled over something, something big. Quite possibly the most important operation in the history of MI6. I need to know that you have your head in the game."

He met her eyes, just for a moment.

"I'll handle it."

"Good night, Mr. Bond."

And then M was gone, and he was left standing in the rain. With a sign, Bond turned and began trudging back toward his flat. He had files to review, sources to read, and plans to devise. When he was done, he could drink the memory of today away, at least for a little while.

June 24th., 2009.

The Leaky Cauldron.

Tonks pointed her wand at the door of the little back room of the pub, quickly casting her usual protective spells. Then she turned to find Bond, already seated across the dirty little table in the corner, regarding her with something that was not quite a leer. She avoided the look as she took the seat opposite him, resting her wand on her leg beneath the table.

"Good afternoon, Tonks. I trust there were no further developments during the last week?"

She shrugged.

"Nothing big. Voldemort seems to be lying low."

He studied her for a moment, then nodded.

"So, Mr. Bond, have you come up with a plan of action?"

"Well I thought we should compare notes, make sure I'm not missing anything." He placed the list of known and suspected Death Eaters in the centre of the table. A familiar face, eyes wide and mad, starred up at her. Tonks shifted uncomfortably. The last time she'd seen that face had been in the Department of Mysteries, just after Sirius's body fell through the Veil.

"Bellatrix Lestrange", Bond was saying. "Suspected to be Voldemort's chief lieutenant and the leader of the attack on the Millennium Bridge, as well as another attack the same day in Diagon Alley, which resulted in the abduction of the famous wandmaker Garrick Olivander."

She looked up from the picture to see Bond watching her intently. She returned the gaze warily, her instincts sensing a still-undefined trap.

"Bellatrix Lestrange would be a... difficult target", she said carefully. "She's insane, but she's also a highly capable witch, and she's most likely currently living at Malfoy Manor."

"You know the location of this manor? Could you get me inside, or get me a clear shot at one of the windows? A kilometer should be close enough."

She starred, and it took her a moment to realize what he was talking about. _Muggle guns can shoot that far?_ She really had fallen out of touch with the Muggle world. It was a frightening thought- both of them.

"The Manor is too well-defended, and an attack there would draw the attention of the Wizarding authorities. It is also the most likely location of Voldemort's current base of operations."

"She's also the terrorist most immediately responsible for the mass murder of British citizens", Bond countered.

"I'm not saying that we shouldn't try to... eliminate her, Mr. Bond", she said carefully... "But we can't attack Malfoy Manor."

"That is your tactical assessment?"

She nodded, still wary.

"And your reticence has nothing to do with the fact that Madame Lestrange, and the Malfoys, are your blood relatives."

She froze. For a moment, the room was silent. Then she met Bond's gaze, struggling to keep her expression blank and her voice level, though she could feel hot anger leaking through into her words.

"I see you've done your research, Bond. In which case, you should know that Bellatrix Lestrange is no family of mine. You should also know that she murdered my cousin in front of me less than two months ago."

"And the Malfoys?"

She hesitated. She didn't feel much for Narcissa one way or the other, but Lucius was the enemy. Draco, though... he was still just a kid. Probably not a very good one, growing up in that house, but she wasn't sure she'd be comfortable with simply... murdering him in cold blood. No, scratch that- she was pretty bloody sure she _wouldn't_ be. For the first time, she really felt what they were talking about, what they were planning to do. Murder. Not arrests, or skirmishes where someone _might_ die, or they might not, but targeted assassinations, where the goal was the death of another human being.

Was it really any different than using the Killing Curse?

She looked up and saw Bond watching her intently.

"I..." She swallowed. "If it comes to that... I'll do what I have to." At least it would probably be Bond pulling the trigger. Right?

Bond's expression didn't shift.

"This isn't a game darling." Part of her bristled at his condescension, but mostly she was too busy thinking about what it was that they were here to do. "It isn't police work either. No arrests, no reports. We find them, we kill them, we dump the bodies and pretend that it never happened. Understand?"

She swallowed again. Bond's expression was hard, and there was something dark behind his eyes, something she'd seen once or twice in Mad Eye Moody when he talked about the First War. Her throat felt very dry. Bond was watching her intently. She wondered, momentarily, what would happen if she said "no".

She nodded.

"I understand."

"Good." Bond's tone became crisp, business-like, and Tonks had the sudden realization that she had passed some kind of test. "Your objections to targeting Ms. Lestrange are noted and valid. However, its only a matter of time before Voldemort figures out what we're doing. We need to make our first shots count for as much as possible."

He slid a piece of paper across the table to her. "Our first target."

Looking down, she saw a familiar photograph starring up at her.


	5. Chapter 5

James stumbled as the universe stopped whirling and he landed hard on a grassy field. He felt Tonks' grip on his arm and regained his balance, starring around him at the flat, empty, and almost familiar moors. He swallowed down the urge to vomit and kept his mouth shut, not trusting himself to speak.

"We're here."

He turned to look at Tonks, who was eyeing him with a hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

"Apparating doesn't agree with you, Mr. Bond?"

He forced himself to reply with what he hoped was a confident smirk.

"Not the most comfortable form of travel. Bloody quick though. This is actually Scotland?" He pulled out his phone and checked his location. Even now, seeing it, it was hard to believe. "Handy trick, that." _If only it didn't feel like riding the bloody rollercoaster without a seatbelt._

"We're here", Tonks replied, sobering. "Greyback's camp should be just about a mile over that hill." He followed the direction of her arm to the top of a low rise, lined with short, scruffy trees, a few hundred yards ahead to their right.

"Right then", he said, looking around the desolate, too-familiar landscape. He drew his Walther PPK from beneath his jacket, checked to make sure the bag slung over his shoulder was secure, then strode forward in grim silence, a subdued Tonks trailing behind him.

Tonks followed Bond up the slope toward the encampment, a growing feeling of dread settling steadily over her. Her nerves were on-edge, and she felt queasy. It had suddenly hit her that this was real- before, it had just been talk, but now, they were actually going to attack Voldemort's allies directly. So far as she knew, it was the first collaboration between Muggles and Wizards in the wars against Voldemort. She thought that she'd heard something once about Wizards helping Muggles in World War One, or was it World War Two, but she didn't remember the details. She'd have to look it up, she thought distantly, after...

 _After Bond killed Greyback_. If they succeeded, she would become an accessory to murder.

If they _didn't_ succeed, they might both be dead in an hour, or worse.

It made it easier, a little bit, knowing that the target was Fenrir Greyback. Maybe it shouldn't have, but it did. None of Voldemort's followers were good people, of course, but Greyback was...

She'd overheard Sirius and Lupin talking about it once, though she hadn't understood it all at first. She'd asked Sirius later, and he'd told her that Greyback was the werewolf that had bitten Lupin. From what she'd heard, he'd only been a kid at the time. It made her feel, in some way, as though by doing this she were... avenging Lupin.

The thought made her feel ashamed. This wasn't about her stupid little crush. It wasn't supposed to be personal. She was doing this because it was right, because, she thought, it had to be done. Didn't it? It wasn't about indulging her own feelings. Right?

 _"Lupin."_

 _"Tonks."_

 _"Can I... um... have a word?" She'd sounded so awkward, and so guilty, that she could have kicked herself._

 _"Quickly. I'm rather busy, I'm afraid."_

 _Of course you are, she thought bitterly. You always are, whenever I want to have a word with you._

 _No, she thought, ashamed of her pettiness. That wasn't fair, especially considering what he was busy with._

 _"I just... wanted to know how you're holding up, dealing with Greyback." She almost winced when she saw his face twist slightly at her words. "I mean, I know about... you know." She shrugged awkwardly, desperately avoiding his eyes._

 _"I'll manage", he replied grimly, and she felt her heart rise at his words. He was so brave, never complaining, just doing what he could to help the Order._

 _"Its just... I worry, you know. We all do", she added quickly. "You'll be out of touch- how would we find you if something... if something happened?"_

 _His expression turned wary. Damn it, he's probably worried I'll go running after him like some fool girl. Which would piss me off more if I wasn't actually planning to go looking for the place- or rather, to help Bond find it._

 _"Dumbledore knows where I am", he replied shortly, at last. "I appreciate your concern, but I really must be going. Good night."_

 _Remus turned and strode out the door, pausing to exchange a few words with Mrs. Weasley in the Burrow's front yard, and leaving her standing, acutely embarrassed, in the kitchen._

 _Damn it. She couldn't ask Dumbledore. Those eyes of his had a way of seeming to see right through you. But maybe..._

 _She didn't want to do it. But he might tell her, if she worded the question the right way. And if she could keep a straight face while she asked it. And if there was anyone Dumbledore would trust with his plans, it was Alastor Moody..._

"Tonks?"

She broke out of her thoughts and turned to find Bond standing at the base of the hill a few yards ahead, watching her.

"Bond."

"This is as far as you go", he said. "Wait for me here. If I'm not back in an hour, apparate back to London and tell Shacklebolt what's happened."

She nodded, her throat tight, her stomach queasy. She didn't say anything. What was there to say? Bond turned and strode up the slope in the direction of the trees lining the top of the ridge. She watched him until he vanished over the ridge, then sat down, wand in hand, back to a boulder, and waited.

Bond climbed the hill in the direction that Tonks had indicated. When he reached the top, however, he stepped behind a tree, out of sight of Tonks, and immediately dropped into a crouch. Carefully, he peered around the trunk of the tree. It took him a few moments to spot Tonks, sitting more or less where he had left her. Good. He hadn't thought that she would try to double-cross or tail him, but it was best to verify that himself.

Keeping low, he eased himself down the slope, using the underbrush to screen him from sight. It took him close to twenty minutes to reach the half-way point down the incline, and there, in a hollow between two trees, he crouched, and removed the bag from his shoulder. Carefully, he unzipped it and drew out the stock, barrel, and scope of a sniper rifle, laying each piece on the floor of the hollow beside him. It took but moments to assemble the weapon. It wasn't the best MI6 had to offer-the technology was some years out of date-but it was the best he could requisition without filing a special requisition with the armory, and M wouldn't want a big paper trail for this assignment. Satisfied with his work, he slowly raised his head above the rim of the hollow, peering through a gap between two bushes, then raised the rifle to his shoulder, resting the barrel on the ground, and gazed through the scope at the small encampment some hundreds of yards away.

He could see a few low, ragged tents of dirty fabric, and in the centre, a small circle of stones around a burned-out campfire. Small bits of trash, old food and utensils, were scattered here and there. He could see someone pacing about aimlessly; another couple, a young woman and an older man, sitting in the shade of one of the tents. From the way the man had his arm around the woman, he figured they were a couple.

He moved his scope to the entrance of the largest, and furthest tent. It was a perfect shot. Now he just needed the werewolf to show his face. A minute passed. Two. The tent flap opened. He moved his finger to the trigger, then paused.

A man stepped out, but it wasn't the hulking, unkempt figure of Fenrir Greyback. This man looked younger, though his features were worn. He was dressed in a slightly rumpled brown tweed suit, his hair combed but somewhat mussed, his face pale. Bond thought he saw a bruise under the man's right eye, and he seemed to be favoring one arm. He turned to face the tent's entrance. The tent flap opened again and another man stepped out. This one was bulky, with long, ragged hair and an ugly look on his face. Bond recognized this man from the dossier. Greyback turned to the first man and gestured angrily. He appeared to be shouting, though Bond was too far off to hear what he said. The first man held up one hand in a placating gesture as he backed away, though contempt as well as wariness was etched clearly on his features. He turned to go, walking away from the camp with long, swift strides. Bond turned his attention back to Fenrir Greyback, lining up his sights, finger tensing on the trigger-

"Hey, you there!"

His head whipped 'round and he cursed. Two filthy figures in ragged clothing were standing half-way up the slope above him.

More of Greyback's pack.

"He's got a gun!", one of them shouted, a woman, and the other bounded down the slope towards him. Bond dropped the rifle and rolled into a crouch, drawing his pistol. He had to give the first attacker credit- he barely hesitated when he saw Bond draw the gun, then hurled himself forward with a roar. But it was too far, and he never had a chance. Bond fired twice, the first shot striking him in the centre of the chest and bringing him stumbling to a halt a dozen paces off, the second catching him right between the eyes. He dropped like a stone.

The other starred, wide-eyed, then turned and started to run. Bond considered shooting her too, but he didn't much fancy shooting an unarmed woman in the back, even if she was part of Greyback's crowd, and the trees between them made a pistol shot difficult in any case. Grimacing, he turned, grabbed the rifle, and quickly began disassembling it and stuffing the pieces into the bag. Below, in the camp, he could distantly see figures running, gathering, a man who could only be Greyback gesturing towards the ridge-line.

 _Damn it, this should have been a simple hit._ Slinging the bag back over his shoulder, he took off at a run back up the slope, keeping low, pistol at the ready.

It took him perhaps five minutes to reach Tonks. She sprang to her feet as she saw him coming, whipping 'round with her wand held at the ready. She relaxed slightly when she saw that it was just him, but she didn't put the wand away.

"Trouble?"

"Ran into a couple of the pack. The rest are right behind me." Glancing back, he saw the first dark figures appear on the top of the rise.

"Shit", Tonks muttered. She gripped his arm, and Bond braced himself as she turned on the spot and the world _twisted_ once more, Tonks apparating them away from the Scottish highlands and back to their usual room in the Leakey Cauldron.

Fenrir Greyback starred at the spot a few hundred yards away where the wizards had disaparated. A low growl escaped his lips.

"We found Tom", Jackobi said beside him. "Dead. Big gaping hole blown through his chest, and another one through the head."

Fenrir frowned. He hadn't heard of any spells that left wounds like that.

"Show me", he grunted, and followed the nervous Jackobi back down the slope to where the body was lying. Sure enough, Tom was lying on his back near a small hollow in the hillside, spread-eagled, a bloody hole in the centre of his chest and another right between his eyes. Fenrir kicked the corpse once, then turned to Jackobi.

"Any witnesses?"

"Charlie was with him", one of the others piped up. Tim, he thought his name was.

"Must have run off", he growled. "Gutless bitch." He growled again under his breath, rage building in him. They had come here and killed one of his people- no doubt he was the intended target. The Ministry cowards, or maybe Dumbledore's lot. The Dark Lord would know of this treachery, and then he would have his revenge-

"Um, sir?"

"WHAT?", he roared, whirling on Jackobi. The young man stumbled back a step, and stammered a reply.

"I-I th-think I... recognize those wounds."

"What of it?", he growled. It didn't matter to him what bloody spell the arsehole had used.

The kid stepped forward and knelt cautiously by Tom's body. His eyes tracked over the scruffy grass, until he rose, holding something between his fingers. He looked up, his wide eyes meeting Greyback's.

"A bullet casing", he said.

"What?", snarled Fenrir.

"A b-bullet", he stammered. "A metal projectile, fired from Muggle guns."

Fenrir just starred. Then he scoffed, absently cuffing the idiot and knocking him on his arse.

"Don't be a fool. Muggles can't apparate."

"Maybe they was workin' with a Mudblood", Jules piped up nervously.

Fenrir starred at him. Jules swallowed as Fenrir stalked over to him, staring him in the face from two feet away.

"You might have somethin' there", Fenrir said. "Dumbledore always was a soft one for the Muggles." Jules let out a slow sigh of relief- then staggered as Fenrir cuffed him across the face. He waited until Jules fell to his knees, then kicked him hard in the gut. Jules groaned.

"That's for talkin' out of turn."

He turned and strode back into camp. He needed to send a message.

Bond exited the cab a couple blocks from his flat, then made his way home by a roundabout route. He was reasonably certain that he hadn't been tailed, but the old rules didn't apply now, did they?

He cursed himself for not remembering that there was a spell that could turn you invisible. One word from Tonks, and those two could have passed within five feet of his hiding place and missed him. Now instead of a dead terrorist leader, he had one dead grunt who might or might not have actually have been a terrorist, and one live witness who could identify him.

 _Why did I hesitate? I could have made that shot._ He knew the answer. _Sentimental. Too much conscience for this line of work, and not enough left for anything else._

 _Too much guilt._

And why hadn't he thought to have Tonks cast the disillusionment charm on him? Was it simply that he was unused to factoring magic into an operational plan? Was it that he didn't trust Tonks? She'd had plenty of chances to double-cross him already, but you couldn't be too careful. He'd learned that lesson the hard way. Or maybe he just wasn't comfortable with the thought of actually having magic cast on him.

 _Get it together, James_ , he told himself. _Got to get your head in the game._ Today's debacle meant that, in all likelihood, the enemy were now aware of their operations. That meant that he had to assume that he'd be tracked, sooner or later. Even if their pursuers hadn't identified Tonks, they'd know that a skilled witch was working with a Muggle gunman, and that one or both of their attacks had access to information on the whereabouts of Voldemort's suspected followers. If Voldemort had, as Tonks suspected, infiltrated the Ministry-and it was the first thing Bond would have tried to do in the wizard's place-then it was only a matter of time until they were found.

 _I should have insisted Tonks stay here._

Granted, the two of them together wouldn't have much chance if Voldemort came calling in person. _Bastard'd probably burn the building down around us, if he couldn't get in the door. Or just apparate in invisible._ He shook his head, downing a glass of whiskey.

The question was: what next? They were running out of time, and out of options. Their next shot needed to count, because it might be their last. Sitting by the coffee table, he pulled out the file of known and suspected Death Eaters. The face of Bellatrix Lestrange starred up at him. He put it aside. He wasn't ready to attempt an assault on Malfoy Manor. A plan in that direction was beginning to form, but there were difficulties that he had yet to resolve. That left him essentially two options: he could try another hit on Greyback, or he could go after the next target, or rather targets, on his list.

His mind made up, he put away the file. He'd contact Tonks tomorrow, then stake out the target's home. Once he was certain of his target, he'd make his move- within two or three days, if all went to plan. He snorted.

 _That'll be the day._

His black cloak spread out like wings in the warm summer breeze as Severus Snape strode up the pathway toward the gates of Malfoy Manor. Past the gates he went, up the long, empty drive through the well-manicured and entirely too ostentatious grounds.

 _If Lucius spent less of his gold on his vanity, and more of it on supporting the Dark Lord, and bribing the Ministry, this war might be over by now_. But no. As long as Dumbledore was alive, Voldemort dared not move openly. Their encounter at the Ministry had been inconclusive, but both men knew that they might not be so fortunate a second time.

 _As long as Dumbledore is alive._ But how long would that be? The old man was dying. Another six months? A year? And then?

Severus's grip tightened on his wand as he approached the front doors, and he closed his mind, shielding his thoughts against any who might attempt to penetrate them.

They were gathered in the Dining Hall, as usual- a half-dozen black-robed Death Eaters in a rough semi-circle, facing the tall, inhuman figure at the head of the table. Lord Voldemort's pale, flattened features regarded him as he entered, his expression amused and holding just a hint of malice, as that great snake Nagini coiled around his shoulders. Severus inclined his head.

"My Lord."

"Just in time, Severus", Voldemort's high voice said. "Now that we are all together, let us begin. First, our dear friend Greyback"-the sarcasm and disdain was clear in his voice-"has news." Voldemort gestured lazily to Greyback who rose, ill-concealing his displeasure at being left kneeling at the Dark Lord's feet, and began to speak.

"This morning, my camp was attacked by an unknown intruder. He killed one of my men, then fled. He was pursued, and we saw him apparate away with the assistance of an unknown witch. No doubt I was their target."

"The Ministry?", Yaxley asked.

Greyback hesitated.

"I don't know." He paused, fiddling with something in his pocket. Severus's eyes narrowed as he drew it out and put it on the table. The werewolf seemed almost uncertain, if that were possible. "One of my people found these at the scene."

"What are they?", Yaxley asked, but Severus's eyes were on the Dark Lord. He was gazing at the little bits of gleaming metal with a strange expression.

"Thank you, Greyback. I will consider our adversary's change in tactics. You are dismissed", Voldemort said, dismissing Greyback with a lazy gesture. Greyback opened his mouth, thought better of it, closed it, and after a muttered "My Lord" and a quick nod, turned and stomped from the room.

 _His disrespect will cause him trouble one day,_ Severus thought, not bothering to conceal his distaste for the beast.

"Well, Severus?", the Dark Lord asked at length.

He met his master's eyes and carefully concealed his thoughts.

"If it was someone in the Order, I knew nothing of it", he replied.

"Indeed", the Dark Lord replied. "The old fool is too soft, I think, for such tactics. And yet..." He frowned slightly, gazing contemplatively at the ceiling for a moment. Then he fixed his gaze on the Death Eaters around the table.

"Yaxley, instruct our Ministry contacts to make enquiries. Severus, you will discover if Dumbledore knows anything. The Headmaster may be too weak for such tactics himself, but there is little that he is not aware of. But for the moment, we have other matters to discuss. Yaxley, if you would?"

Snape listened as Yaxley laid out his progress in infiltrating the Ministry, filing the information away for subsequent use. Who had attacked Greyback? Not the Order, he was certain. It might have simply been one of the man people with a personal grudge against the notorious werewolf. If so, then Dumbledore might actually know nothing. He grimaced. In that case, the Dark Lord would be most displeased.


End file.
